


A Feather in Your Cap?

by saltyfeathers



Series: Space for Lease [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Alternate Universe - Space, Hate to Love, M/M, Slow Build, Space Pirates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-20
Updated: 2015-03-20
Packaged: 2018-03-18 18:08:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3578949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltyfeathers/pseuds/saltyfeathers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester sails across the vast Lavender Ocean on the planet Thare, determined to help heal his home planet after a vicious war lead it to the brink of destruction a decade ago. With the help of his loyal crew, he rights wrongs and keeps the remaining ports safe. </p><p>Castiel Novak sails across the vast blanket of stars above, determined to do whatever space pirates do. This includes endangering one of the ports Dean has vowed to protect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Feather in Your Cap?

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the Space for Lease Verse!! I've never written a wip verse quite like this before, so I'm a little nervous and a LOT excited. 
> 
> I can't promise a steady update schedule, but rest assured there will be updates.

_Erebus_ means darkness.

Or so they say.

It’s a myth turned legend turned myth again. A word from a long forgotten language on a long forgotten planet, nestled in the corner of a now defunct galaxy.

Or is it an alternate galaxy in an alternate universe? That’s the thing with myths. They’re so vague. They keep secrets tucked away under a million mouths, a million cultures.

There are billions of galaxies out there, though. Perhaps they are just waiting to be filled with stories. With myths that are actually legends and legends that are actually myths.

People who do legendary things are still people.

People who do mythological things, though.

That particular knot’s a little harder to unravel.

***

“Fuck.”

Dean Winchester’s caught his sleeve on an errant nail sticking out of an errant barrel, and not for the first time.

“Always with the puffy sleeves,” he mutters, annoyed, as he yanks himself free with a disheartening rip.

Jo Harvelle thinks it’s hilarious, which is pretty par for the course with her. It’s also par for the course when Dean glowers at her.

Jo shrugs, smile still on her face.

“You’re the one who likes to be fashionable,” she quips. When Dean opens his mouth to protest, she holds out a hand. “Oops, sorry, I mean you like to ‘blend in’,” she finger quotes.

Dean runs a defensive hand down his buttoned leather vest, all too aware of the ostentatious feather on his tricorne.

“I’m a captain,” he snaps.

“You like feathers,” Jo rebuts.

“The hat was a gift, Jo!”

“Doesn’t mean you have to wear it,” Jo informs him with a sly smile before she starts walking again. She is, of course, dressed in incredibly plain clothes, though they’re all dirtier than a ship’s ass. Dean’s begged her to wash her socks, at least, but Jo likes that they make people think twice about messing with her.

“Will you just-” Dean rolls his eyes as he jogs to catch up to her. “-wait,” he gripes as he comes up beside her.

Jo stops and turns fully to him, crossing her arms and tapping her foot. They’re in the market section of town, people milling all over the place selling their wares, tending to the floodgates, or just catching up on the gossip of the day. Dean always does feel a little guilty when he walks into especially poor ports wearing such nice clothing, but even Jo grudgingly admits it’s important for people to see Dean like this, that it offers him authority in situations where he might not otherwise have it.

“People respect a well-dressed man,” Bobby had explained to him almost five years ago now. “You want to be the proper captain of this junker, you want to be a savior of the war-torn people? They gotta know where to look for salvation.”

“I’m no savior,” Dean had practically spat, jerking away from Bobby trying to straighten his collar.

“Oh, for the love of-” Bobby had rolled his eyes and smacked the hat clean off Dean’s head. “If I hear that crap talk for another two seconds I’m gonna walk myself off the plank.”

Dean had lost that particular battle eventually. Now he dresses like a respectable pirate captain should, and though he’s loathe to admit it, he thinks it’s helped. The long, knee length colorful coats and the bishop sleeves actually do make him feel more authoritative, despite their tendency to get caught on anything protruding.

“All we gotta do now is pick up the meds and go,” Jo says, “Why are we hanging around this craphole?” A passing pedestrian gives her a mean look.

“It’s all a craphole,” Dean says more quietly, drawing her off to the side and trying not to offend anymore passerby. “That’s the point.”

Jo gives him a weird look.

“Yeah, Dean,” she says slowly. “That’s why we’re the good kind of pirates, who help the helpless and kiss the babies and all that crap. I thought we worked through the world-has-been-reduced-to-a-craphole angst a long time ago.” She reconsiders. “I mean, it _is_ you, and you tend to angst, but-”

“I thought I saw Sam as we were unpacking the cargo from the ship,” he says in a rush, his face flushing in embarrassment. He knows his crew just pities him now.

Indeed, characteristically and perpetually sarcastic Jo immediately softens.

“Dean…” she says, an exchange they’ve been through multiple times in the past five years, “It wasn’t him.”

Dean puts a hand over his eyes.

“Yeah. Yeah I know.”

Jo doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t say, _he’s probably dead_ , like she should. She doesn’t say, _we’ll find him_. Jo thinks Sam is long gone, either dead or in hiding or in another galaxy by now.

She just waits for Dean to get his shit back together, since he seems to keep losing it at an alarming rate these days.

“Our last errand is grabbing those meds,” Jo reminds him. “That fucking peg leg of Bobby’s is gonna get infected otherwise.”

Dean drops his hand.

“I know,” he says, brushing past her. “Let’s go.”

He fucking knows he’s the worst captain in the history of piracy, space or otherwise, but he tries not to let the general public in on that particular secret. They need the crew of the Impala, and they need the captain of said crew to be an actual _captain_ , not lose his cool next to the fish stall in the market. 

Between Garth’s general store and the piss ridiculous tourist shop beside it, Dean catches his first glimpse of the Lavender Ocean in hours. Him and Jo had to take care of a Night outside of town and it took them a damn long time to find its nest. Long enough that Jo teased him about losing his touch for tracking the things.

Instead of heading straight to Garth’s, Dean slips between the buildings and stands at the water’s edge. Further down the coast, he can see where the Impala is docked, bobbing slightly in the lavender waves. The water is high today, almost at the very top of the artificial ledge, threatening to spill over onto land.

“Charlie told me it’s supposed to stay like that for a while,” Jo says from behind him. “That the tides are still so fucked up, and they’re only getting worse.”

Dean nods, narrowing his eyes as he looks towards the horizon. There’s three suns in the sky today, despite the ever present cover of night. Their rays don’t reach far enough into the atmosphere to provide the proper light anymore.

“This whole planet’s going to go under soon,” he says neutrally, though the melancholy of the sea stings at his eyes.

He can hear Jo nod, even if he can’t see it.

“Maybe that’s for the best,” she says quietly, “Things haven’t been the same since the war.” She steps up beside him.

“Not even half these people will make it off planet,” Dean says. “The ones who already could took off long ago, leaving us to cough in their fucking stardust.”

“You could’ve left,” Jo reminds him. “But you didn’t. You stayed.”

“That ship is barely seaworthy, let alone sky worthy,” Dean says. “I would go if I could.”

Jo smiles faintly.

“No you wouldn’t,” she says. “That’s why I’ve stuck around all these years.” Her smile slips into a smirk. “Even though you do continue to unironically wear feathers.”

Dean snorts and nudges her.

“You’re just mad you can’t pull them off,” he teases, and she shakes her head, allowing him to have the last word for once.

They lapse into silence, staring out at the waves. Erebus fucked with the planet’s atmosphere on their way out after the war, meaning they never get to see the daylight anymore. Enough heat still leaks through to keep everyone alive, but it’s a perpetual starry sky, even during the day. Most of the time, the moons and the suns are ginormous, sharing the sky with planets that are further away.

“Remember when the sky was, y’know, not nighttime at midday?” Jo recalls fondly. “Boy, those were the days.”

Dean actually likes the stars, but he finds it pretty fucking hypocritical of himself to enjoy them when Erebus is the cause of them.

“It makes you feel like you could go spinning off this rock at any moment,” Dean muses, drawing his hand all the way up. “Straight into the sky.”

He doesn’t add that it’s about all the freedom he’ll ever get. Truth is, Dean hasn’t wanted to be on this planet for a good long time. But he has ties here. Obligations. People like Jo who expect he wouldn’t run if given the chance.

“Good thing gravity’s a thing, huh.”

Dean nods.

“Yeah, good thing.”

***

Garth is more than happy to sell them the meds they need, as always.

“We’ve been needing protein supplements for a while,” he chirps, as Dean pulls various methods of payment from his pockets; some gold, some units, an actual, honest to goodness candy bar. Even though Garth lives in an absolute shithole, he’s somehow always smiling. It unsettles Dean a might, but he tries not to judge. On this planet, you’ve got to scrape off morsels of happiness where you can find them. His smile falls the tiniest bit. “People are really hungry.”

Dean stops counting his change and looks up at Garth.

“You need us to make a run?” he asks, Jo stepping on his foot to shut him up. “It’s on the house.” Jo steps on his foot harder, but he ignores her.

Garth picks up one of Dean’s gold coins, smiling again.

“Nah,” he says, “This should do us for a while.” He puts both palms flat on the counter, gazing contentedly between Dean and Jo. “You guys do good work,” he tells them, “I don’t say that to you enough.” He walks around the counter, arms out. “C’mere, ya big lugs!” He envelops both Dean and Jo in a hug, and they trade wide-eyed glances behind Garth’s back, even though he does this basically every time they stop off at this port. Dean hesitantly pats Garth on the back.

“Thanks, buddy,” he says, gently untangling himself from Garth’s grip.  “We’ll see you in a couple weeks, okay? Send word if you need us before then and we’ll do our best.”

Garth salutes. “Ay ay, Captain.”

Dean does his best not to roll his eyes and waves on the way out the door. As soon as they’re out of hearing range, Jo boffs him on the shoulder.

“What the hell, Dean?” she snaps. “You can’t keep offering to do this shit for free or we won’t even be able to feed ourselves, let alone anyone else.”

Dean rounds on Jo. “When you were chewing me out earlier, did you even notice where we were standing? _Did_ you?”

Jo sighs, face hard.

“No.”

“Right next to a stall of rotten fish, Jo, for fuck’s sake. They’re so desperate they’re selling each other rotten food now. And people are actually buying it, because they’re so hungry.”

Jo shakes her head in frustration.

“Yeah, Captain, you’ve got a heart of fucking gold, okay? Love that about you and all. But who would you rather see starve? Them or your crew?”

“It’s not an either-or situation,” Dean says, appalled. “You really think I’d let my own crew starve?”

Jo bristles for a moment, but takes a deep breath to calm herself down.

“Of course not. But with the way we’ve been going lately, it won’t take us long to get a point where you might actually have to choose.”

When the Lavender War started, Dean took his brother’s hand and they ran away. They hid for the duration of the war, and Sam grew wise to his brother’s tricks, seeing him for the coward he really was. Dean still lies awake at night sometimes, thinking of the lives he could’ve saved if he had just been brave enough.

That’s why he needs to make up for them now. To the ones who are trying to rebuild, who are surviving. He owes them more than he could ever give.

That’s why his crew thinks his loyalties are divided, between them and the survivors. What they don’t know is that Dean’s done everything in his power to keep them afloat, to be there for them like he couldn’t be there for his parents, for Sam, or for anyone else during the war. Not a day goes by that Dean doesn’t think about how much he owes this entire fucking sad little rock planet. How much he’s fucked up over the past decade.

“It’s not going to come to that, okay?” Dean puts his hands on Jo’s shoulders. “It’s just a rough patch. And how do we get through rough patches?”

Jo purses her lips.

“We sail through them,” she eventually gives in.

“There ya go,” Dean slings an arm around her shoulder just as a chilly breeze whips through the town square. They get hit with another whiff of rotting fish, and Dean tries not to think about it.

On the way out of town, Dean drapes his coat over a man sleeping near the floodgate, and Jo eyes him the entire time but says nothing. He’s gone through five coats in the last three months.

When people with nowhere else to go start sleeping near the floodgates, the generally widely understood intention is that they plan to walk into the sea the next day and not walk out. Dean figures their last night alive might as well be one spent warm.

***

Castiel Novak’s sword is a deep purple thing he got off the dead body of a magistrate he _might_ have killed. The man was selling kids off planet to work as slaves in metallic mines, so Cas didn’t feel too bad about it- that is, if he _did_ do it. The most important thing about being a space pirate: plausible deniability. There are authorities out there who can read minds, and the last reason Cas is going to get put away is because he gives himself up. 

It’s a beautiful sword, intricately designed with gold inlaid alone the blade and the hilt. It’s far too ostentatious for a supposedly under the radar group of smugglers, but he supposes it’s been a long time since any of his crew on Starkisser have really flown under the radar. They’ve got bounties out on them on countless moons and even more covert government agencies.

As far as Cas is concerned, it’s free press. The longer they can go without getting caught by mounting threats, the higher their credibility shoots. Once the heat gets to be too much, they’ll fake their deaths and start again, but Cas wants to ride this high as long as possible. Crowley is giving them a great rate to find a particular package on an anarchic planet, which is almost unheard of. Planets without any official authority are usually either avoided at all costs or complete refuges for ragtag crews like Cas’. Getting paid this much to head into an atmosphere that won’t care if they’re there is like a walk in the park. No governments to avoid, no bounties to leave behind. In and out, fight a few locals, and the job is done.

Or so it seems.

“This job might be harder than we thought,” Bela Talbot informs him as she enters the cockpit, file under arm.  

“Has a wrench been thrown into our carefully cultivated machinations?” Cas asks dryly as he readies the ship to enter atmo. It should definitely be Uriel doing this, but Uriel is asleep and annoyed and Cas knows better than to piss off his pilot too many times in one day. He can probably land it okay without killing them all. After all, almost the entire planet is water. It would be a fantastic feat if he somehow managed to miss.

“That’s why we stopped machinating, isn’t it?” Bela smirks, sitting in the co-captain’s chair and crossing her legs.

Cas snaps and points at her without looking.

“You’re a sharp one.”

Bela opens the file on her lap.

“So Crowley conveniently left out the fact that this is the planet the Lavender War took place on.”

“The what?”

Bela does a double take. “You’ve never heard of the Lavender War?”

“Bela, hundreds of wars start and finish in this solar system every day. I can’t keep track of them all.”

Bela stirs uneasily.

“I just figured you’d know,” she says, “Since it’s the work of the Cult of Erebus.”

Cas goes very still, staring very hard at a button on the dashboard in front of him.

“Tell me about it,” he says finally, raising his gaze to the periwinkle planet out the window.

Bela lets out a breath.

“Okay, so, Thare was never exactly a rich planet. Their main industry was fishing, since something about the Lavender Ocean made the fish popular with a couple of the richer planets like Fanta, Lighthead, and Wick. All the rich bastards paid huge sums for huge amounts of fish, and eventually, the fish ran out, and that was really all it took. The rich planets took their business elsewhere, and left Thare pretty much barren. It led to a civil war on the planet, people trying to figure out how to reignite the industry, and of course, no one could ever agree. It was when they were trying to rebuild that Erebus showed up and opened a fissure.”

Cas nods tightly.

“So that’s why this planet’s deemed anarchic?”

“You got it. The war is technically over, finished about five years ago now. But there are still some errants on ground that we’ll need to watch out for.”

“And there are still people living on this planet?” Cas asks in disbelief.

“Like I said, Thare was never a rich planet. These people have nowhere to go and no means to get there.” Cas sees Bela shrug out of the corner of his eye. “I suppose you make do with what you have.”

Cas sends out a call to Crowley on the dashboard communicator, fully expecting him not to pick up, which is why is surprises him when he actually does.

“Hello, darling,” Crowley purrs into the monitor. When he catches sight of Bela, he smiles wider. “Darling _s_ ,” he amends.

Bela’s never talked much about her history with Crowley, but apparently they have one. Their accents are similar enough that Cas assumes they’re from the same planet, and they have a certain antagonistic banter that makes him think they’ve known each other for a lot longer than either of them have known Cas.

“Thanks for the heads up about the Lavender War, you prick,” Bela says cheerily before exiting the room.

“Ooh, right,” Crowley muses. “I suppose that would’ve been an important and scrumptious tidbit.”

Cas rolls his eyes.

“You’re an ass, Crowley.”

“See, this is why I like you better than Uriel. You actually flirt back.”

“I’m adding to your fee,” Cas warns him. “For the errants and also for not telling us about the errants. You fuck.”

“Pish tosh,” Crowley waves a dismissive hand. “Just get me what I’ve sent you for and I’ll pay your fees. Although, Castiel, I have to admit, I think the real reward here is the friendship we’ve made along the-”

Cas turns off the monitor. It’s not the first time he’s dealt with Crowley and it probably won’t be the last. Perks of leading a life of crime is you get to spend time with the criminals who are either too low life, too rich, or too smart for the authorities to bother with. Crowley is definitely the former. A two-bit middleman who works for various shady factions that seem to have taken a liking to Cas and his crew. Cas tries not to think too hard on who they work for when they aren’t working for themselves.

Cas definitely enjoys ripping off banks and holding up fancy caravans way more than working under Crowley’s thumb, but the money was too good to turn down. No honor among thieves, right? They go where the money is. Or more likely, the money goes and they follow.

Thare is coming up fast, and Cas presses the intercom button.

“Attention everyone, we should be touching down on Thare in about twenty minutes. Since Uriel is being a jackass I’ll be the one doing the landing, so if any of you die, it’s his fault. Also, go talk to Bela. She has some fun news for those of us in the excavation party.”

“Fuck you!” he hears from Bela, somewhere down the hall.

***

“I fucking hate errants,” Ruby snarls, sticking her knife into its sheathe at her waist. “Why the fuck did we take this job if it means dealing with errants?”

“We didn’t know errants were involved at the taking of this job,” Cas says mildly. “Besides, if one of you gets torn apart out there that just means more grab for the rest of us.”

At most, they’re a little put out. Cas has given similar directives in the cargo bay of this ship too many times for any of them to be surprised.

“Rousing speech, Cap,” Gabriel says cheerfully, patting Cas on the shoulder. “Real good stuff.”

“That’s me, made of pretty words.”

“If the captain actually cared to, I’m sure he could blow us all away with a smartly placed adjective,” Balthazar interjects knowingly.

“How the hell would _you_ know?” Anna accuses, adjusting her laser bow at her back. It’s the only laser tech they have in terms of weapons and it’s practically ancient, but it still shoots faster and stronger than any bullet from a gun muzzle.

“What, am I the only one who breaks into the captain’s room at night and reads his diaries?”

Cas tilts his head threateningly.

“We’ve got to keep our shit together,” he tells the group at large. “I know we’ve all dealt with errants before in some capacity or another, but Crowley’s thrown us through a loop and we don’t really know the situation. So be aware.”

Ruby scoffs and hits the button to open the airlock. The doors all over this ship screech something fierce, and Cas has to keep reminding himself to do something about it. 

“Let’s just go,” she rolls her eyes. “I’m gonna get covered in fucking space gunk again, I swear.”

“Better than being eaten,” Balthazar mumbles as he brushes by Cas.

They fan out through the airlock, drifting into their typical loose formation.

According to Bela’s intel on Thare, the majority of the planet’s been lost to the Lavender Ocean since the war. Erebus’ escape from the planet left perpetual darkness in its wake, along with tides that have become so erratic they’ve left only a handful of ports across the entire world still standing, and even those are always at risk for major tidal waves.

So it doesn’t surprised him that this particular port- Whiterun, it’s called- looks like little more than a big charred rock in the middle of the ocean. Most of the residents should be asleep by now, though Crowley did at least warn them that the sleeping patterns of the planet have veered wildly since the perpetual night started. As soon as they’re off the ship, Uriel closes the airlock off and takes off for somewhere to lay low for a couple hours.

The only visible civilization is a couple rusted fishing dinghies on the beach and a small town nestled into the side of the rockface a little ways down the coast. They’re at most danger from the errants in less populated areas like this one, so they have to move steadily but slowly, as errants track through vibration rather than sight or smell.

“Has anyone here, uh, actually ever fought an errant at night?” Gabriel asks quietly. The noise from Starkisser’s engine is fast fading, and the only other sound is the water lapping gently at the dock behind them. It’s an incredibly eerie quiet that Cas rarely finds himself in, since there’s always at least one machine whizzing or hissing or groaning on the ship.

No one responds, so Cas takes it upon himself to.

“I have once,” he says, but doesn’t elaborate.

“And?!”

Cas swallows.

“I’m still here,” is about the best answer he can give without showing them the twin scars that rake down the middle of his back.     

To be fair, he was on his own at the time, and it was three on one. They have much better odds like this.

Their flashlights aren’t especially strong, but Cas had instructed to keep them fairly low. The last thing they want to do is announce their presence to the town above before they have to. “Strange lights down at the beach” is usually a phenomenon that gets people talking pretty quickly.

To his left, Balthazar lets out a sudden, short yell and stabs his sword into something by his feet. Immediately, everyone has their weapons trained on…

Ruby groans.

“It’s driftwood, for fuck’s sake,” Anna sighs, shouldering her bow again and shaking her head. “You’re going to get us all killed,” she tells him wearily.

Balthazar yanks his sword out of the driftwood.

“I swear I saw someth-”

 Balthazar yells again as something dark rises out of the sand and pins him to the ground. It’s indistinct, which makes it distinctly an errant. The whole of the cosmos swirls through its transparent skin.

“Anna!” Cas yells, before sprinting towards Balthazar. He tackles the errant off Balthazar, sending them both rolling into the wet sand.

Cas ends up on his back, fighting off a creature that looks like space against the backdrop of space. Needless to say, it’s not the easiest task in the world.

He’s holding the errant as far off him as possible, trying to give Anna a clean shot. It snaps ferociously at him with almost invisible teeth as long as his forearm. Errants aren’t built like any human or animal or alien Cas or any of his crew have ever encountered. According to lore, they’re the madness at the edge of space made animate. Creatures built around immense black holes that threaten to swallow up entire worlds every time they open their mouths. It’s why they slightly distort everything around them, like an especially malevolent heat wave above concrete. Not that anyone has ever survived to confirm it, but word has it that if an errant swallows you, so does the black hole at its core. Errants drool space dust, and the grains sting and make it hard to see. It cracks its maw shut about an inch from the tip of Cas’ nose, and it takes everything in him to shove it just a little higher.

“Anna!” he bellows again. He stares at the juncture where his hand disappears into the folds of it, into the sky, and coughs up space dust.

“Move your hand!” Anna yells. “You need to get it higher!” Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the bright white of her arrow pointing directly at the thing above it.

“Just fucking shoot it!” he roars, a small wave washing over them. Cas gets water up his nose, and can’t stop the coughing fit that ensues. Above him, water drips off distorted stars and galaxies.

The weight is mercifully pulled off him as it takes Ruby, Gabriel, and Balthazar all together to yank it away. They manage to hold it upright, the errant thrashing wildly between them.

“Hold it still,” Anna demands, hands rock steady, as Cas coughs his guts out all over the sand.

The problem with killing an errant, of course, is that each time you do, you run the risk of blowing up the galaxy. It’s a slim chance, but with the way the black hole is contained within them, the wrong puncture wound can cause it to unleash all its energy at once, effectively destroying _at least_ the planet. Starkisser has ridden more than one dangerously close shock wave since the rise of the Cult of Erebus and their use of fissures.

They’ve found in the past that shooting an errant dead center is often the quickest and easiest way of disposing them, though the errants can freely shift their centers, which leads to a whole host of other issues.

At the very last second, the errant bucks wildly, Anna shifts her aim just a smidge, and lets fly. Cas buries his face in the sand and everyone else closes their eyes against the searing white light. The fallout of a dead errant- the collapsing of an entire interior universe, after all- is enough to render anyone in the near vicinity blind.

There’s an immensely loud curse, and as soon as the light has dissipated, Cas is standing and hurrying over to the group, where Balthazar is cradling his hand to his chest. Anna’s eyes are hard as flint, but Cas can tell she’s shaken.

“You fucking shot a hole in my hand!” Balthazar shouts at her, waving his hand in her face. Indeed, Cas can see right through his palm. “Some kind of archer you bloody are!”

“Better your hand than his,” Anna retorts, jutting her chin towards Cas. “You gonna go off and fight some more driftwood?”

“Hey, HEY.” Cas steps between them, first glaring at Anna, then Balthazar.

“Anna just saved all our lives,” he reminds Balthazar, dangerously quiet. “You’d best do well to remember that.”

Balthazar shakes his head bitterly. “We should’ve auctioned that fucking bow off ages ago,” he spits. “Lasers are for profit, not for target practice.”

“Lasers are for killing errants you smug son of a-”

“OKAY.” Their cover is completely blown. Cas can see lights turning on in the village above them. That should chase the rest of the errants away, at least. He points at Gabriel. “Gabe, radio Uriel and take Balthazar back to the ship. Have Bela do what she can. Anna and Ruby-”

“Actually,” Ruby interrupts, looking at the dust of the errant’s corpse. “I’d much rather take Balt-”

“Nope. You’re with us,” Cas vetoes sharply. “Since we’ve woken the entire planet up, it’ll go faster with just the three of us.”

“You’re still going?” Gabriel asks skeptically.

“We’ve got a job to do,” Cas says flintily, eyes flashing. He ignores the way the wind nips at his wet skin and glances up at the village. “They won’t come down right away,” he assumes, “In case any more errants are about. But that doesn’t mean they won’t come down at all, so we’ve got to move. Might actually be easier if everyone’s looking in the wrong place for us to sneak into the right one.”

Ruby runs her tongue across her teeth in frustration.

“Well, let’s get to sneaking, then.”

***

Victor Henrickson is waiting for them back at the ship, practically jumping out of his skin. When he spots Dean and Jo, he rushes forward to meet them.

“What the hell happened to you two?” he asks. “We thought you were dead.”

Dean waves his hand dismissively.

“Just took a while to find the night, is all. Those fuckers are getting better at hiding, man.”

“Also Dean felt melancholy and looked out at the sea with a hardened gaze for a while.”

“Shut the hell up, Jo.”

Victor rolls his eyes.

“Look, we’ve got trouble over at Whiterun. They called about twenty minutes ago. If we huff it, we can be there before the hour’s out.”

“What kind of trouble?” Dean asks, falling into step with him as they head onto the ship. Jo follows, listening closely. Dean makes sure to pat the railing on his way up. If he’s being honest, he hates being away from his ship for extended periods of time.

“They weren’t sure, just said it might be brewing. Strange lights down at the beach and all.”

Dean nods. “Yeah, that’s a thing that’ll get people talking.” He stops to pull the gangplank off the dock and onto the ship. “You guys go talk to Benny, tell him to get good to go, okay? I’ll go see Charlie.”

“Yes sir,” Jo says wryly, smirking and following Victor upstairs.

Dean rolls his eyes and heads down the hatch in the center of the deck, hollering for Charlie. She’s usually in the engine room, tinkering with some sort of mechanics or quantum physics or another. Their ship runs on a frankly ridiculous combination of ancient technology like sails and steering wheels and rudders and much newer tech that makes it possible to (theoretically) leave the water behind completely.

“Charlie!” Dean hollers again. It’s a damn cacophony down here constantly with all the machines whirring and clanking away. Even though the crew quarters are on the other side of the ship anyone who’s not used to it would have a rough go at getting some shut eye.

“Heya, boss!” Charlie calls, popping out from between a couple of rusty machines. “How ya doin’?” She’s got a streak of grease on her cheek and that look in her eye that means she’s on the cusp of another brilliant idea that Dean’ll hardly understand but will inevitably make their lives a hundred times easier. “How did things go with the night?” she follows up with.

“Easy peasy lemon squeezy, of course,” Dean informs her, waggling his eyebrows. He hates the idea of freaking any of his crew out with his growing apprehensions about the nights, and as far as he’s concerned, no one needs to know the score until absolutely necessary. 

  “Man, you’d almost think these things were fish in a barrel, huh? The way you guys can take care of ‘em now.”

Dean knocks on the wood frame above him.

“Practice makes perfect.”

Charlie snorts.

“Yeah I bet.”

“I just sent word upstairs,” Dean says, “We got trouble in Whiterun, I assume you heard?”

“You betcha.” Charlie flicks a switch on the console beside her and a tight, grinding groan starts up somewhere beneath him. “Good to go when you are.”

“Thanks, Charlie.”

“Ay ay!” Charlie salutes him.

Even though he’s told them time after time to knock it off, the entire crew seems to enjoy saluting him just because they know it annoys him so much.

“There’s always a spot in the brig for you, Charlie,” he calls over his shoulder as he leaves the room.

“Good luck keeping this thing running, then!” follows him up the stairs, and Dean laughs as he hurries up to the main deck, feeling the ship starting to groan under him as they pull away from port. He catches Benny’s eye up near the steering wheel, and sends him a thumbs up. Benny nods in return before focusing on getting them turned all the way around, and Dean heads to the bow.

One of the more disquieting things about the Lavender Ocean is that the water is clear enough to see to the bottom to great depths. On other planets, Dean’s heard of oceans a million different colors- green, black, even blue- but he’s pretty sure there’s nothing like pulling out of port atop the Lavender Ocean in perpetual moonlight (despite the suns that come out every now and again, they do little more than decorate the sky). They can ride their own shadow against the sand under the water for hours if they go in the right direction.

A couple minutes later, Jo comes to find him.

“How you doing?” she asks, leaning on the railing next to him.

This has happened too many times for Dean not to know what she’s up to. He sighs.

“I’m fine, Jo,” he says, monotone. “It wasn’t Sam, and it was stupid for me to say anything in the first place.”

“No, Dean,” Jo says evenly. “It’s stupid that you _keep looking_ for him, even five years later.” Her words are hard and so is her tone, but Dean can practically smell the sympathy leaking off her no matter how hard she tries to hide it. “We’ve been over this world at least a hundred times, okay? If he wanted to be found, he’d be found.”

“He’s a kid, Jo,” Dean says quietly.

“So were you,” Jo reminds him.

Dean shakes his head.

“I should’ve kept a better eye on him. After that fight-”

“ _Hey_ ,” Jo grabs his sleeve and turns him to look at her. “Fuck that,” she says vehemently. “If Sam was enough of a dumbass to run away in the first place, it’s his own damn fault we weren’t there when he came back.”

Dean stares at her with tired eyes until she deflates. The thing with Jo is, she needs to go looking for a fight to get stuff out of her system, but no one on board is stupid enough to offer their services as sparring partner- they’ve all learned the hard way, at one time or another. There’s an old flour sack stuffed with sand on the lower deck for anyone who wants to work on their brawling skills, but Dean knows Jo would prefer they stop off at a more rambunctious port so she can go find someone twice her size and with lots of teeth to go toe to toe with. Part of the reason they initially became so close is because her and Dean aren’t so different when it comes to stress relief. It’s only when Sam comes up that he just can’t bring himself to fight back.

She shakes her head, face awash in the moonlight, watching Garth’s port grow smaller and smaller behind them. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean can see Benny at the other end of the ship, still standing stalwart at the wheel.

“I miss him too, you know,” she admits quietly, not meeting his eye. The ocean is fairly calm tonight, with just the slightest of breezes. Charlie probably had to whip up at least a little mechanical help for their sails. Dean taps a finger on the wooden rail beneath him. He loves touching his ship, grounding himself as he traces the pattern of the grains. Not that he would ever tell anyone this, but he swears the Impala has a heartbeat, and that it pulses beneath his palm sometimes, when he needs calming the most.

Dean times his breaths with the gentle lapping of the waves against the side of the ship, closing his eyes and trying to _feel_ the milky moonlight where it falls across his bared skin. It’ll never be warm like the sun, but he always likes to pretend it’s a good substitute.

He gives himself a moment of reprise, and then pushes off the rail with a sigh.

“Keep an eye out for Whiterun,” he tells Jo, before heading toward Benny’s end of the ship.

When he’s in hearing distance, Benny drawls out an unhurried, “ay ay, Captain” and a lazy salute.

Dean briefly wonders if anyone will ever stop saying “ay ay” whenever he’s around, but with this lot, he doubts it. Anything to get under his skin.

“We’ll be anchorin’ soon,” Benny informs him, eyes trained on the horizon. “Should be there just in time for you to save the day.”

Dean snorts, leaning on the post that’s attached to the steering wheel.

“There’s no day to save anymore,” he says.

“I suppose that’s true,” Benny agrees, turning the wheel slightly. Dean can feel the very minor change in direction beneath his feet. “Doesn’t make it any less worth saving, though, don’t you think?”

“Always the sage one, Benny. You make me feel so tense.”

“It’s the accent,” Benny promises him. “It’s misleadin’.”

Which is true. Dean’s seen Benny rip out a throat or two in his time. In fact, the first time they ever met, Benny had to spit out a mouthful of someone else’s blood before speaking.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Dean chuckles. He takes off his hat and hangs it on one of the top spokes of the steering wheel, running a hand through his hair.

“Hats make my head so damn sweaty,” he complains, rubbing away the itch from where the brim sat on his forehead all day.

“Tough work bein’ in charge all the time,” Benny says, flicking his own hat- still on his head- with a small grin.

“Shut up.”

Benny picks Dean’s hat off the wheel and holds it out to him, gaze knowing.

“You should go grab some shut eye before we hit Whiterun,” he advises. “Or get some grub, at least.”

“No time for shut eye,” Dean can just see the port in the distance, another sad little rock in the middle of the ocean. “Maybe time for food.” He takes his hat from Benny and grudgingly puts it back on, heading below deck again.

Bobby’s not in the kitchen but a big pot of stew is, and he helps himself to a liberal portion, sitting at the roughly made wooden table that the entire crew sometimes tries to crowd around when someone breaks out the playing cards. More than once, Dean’s found himself dealing over the shorter heads to keep himself in the game.

He slurps up his stew because there’s no one to impress so he really doesn’t give a damn. He’s had to meet with more than one uppity business owner over the last couple of years who expects him to be the pinnacle of etiquette when they dine together, and unfortunately he’d rather be throwing dinner rolls across the table than actually eating them- although they do end up getting eaten, of course. It’s not like they have the trade to spare perfectly good dinner rolls. Jo usually takes one for the team and eats the ones that have rolled under the table though. She claims the dirt makes her more powerful, and Dean’s never seen any evidence that disputes said claim, so he just goes with it.

Dean is actually having a nice moment until he hears the telltale footsteps of their resident shapeshifting alien approaching, and tries to stifle a groan.

The door to the kitchen swings open, and Meg doesn’t even try to conceal her own annoyance, sighing loudly and rolling her eyes when she spots Dean. She’s in what they call her version 1.0, a blonde woman with short hair. Whether she’s in 1.0 or 2.0, her eyes are jet black. Not exactly the friendliest face for dealing with various alien races, but she’s all they’ve got.

“ _Captain_ ,” she manages to ground out, not without a healthy dose of contempt. “Wouldn’t expect a strapping young fella like yourself in a dive like this.”

Dean simpers. “But does the dive make the customers or the customers make the dive?”

“We’re both the customers,” Meg informs him snidely, like he’s a clod of dirt on her shoe. “So you’re either bringing me up the ladder or I’m taking you down.” She fills a glass of water from their fresh water barrel and leaves the room, muttering something that sounds like, “moron…”

“You can’t talk to your- oh, fuck it,” Dean gives up halfway through the call because it’s not like he has any real authority around here anyway. He doesn’t even like being “in charge”, but if there’s anyone he would ever want to exert any real authority over, it’s Meg, because she’s snide and evil and sometimes he genuinely believes she’s going to slit all their throats one night and dump them over the side of the boat. He’s thrown her in the brig a couple times- especially in the early days- to try and suss out her real motives, but he can never quite tell. He’s been meaning to ask around about psychics, palm readers, anyone who could maybe give him some insight into what her deal actually is, but he keeps getting put off by everything else on their plate. He just hopes she doesn’t exact whatever her plan may be before he actually makes the appointment.  

He manages to finish his stew without any further interruptions, rubs at his eyes, and once more heads up on deck. Jo is gone when he returns, and he relieves Benny at the wheel, offering to steer them into port and dock.

“Thanks, boss,” Benny gives him a two finger salute before disappearing below deck, and Dean is alone. He breathes deep, loving the salty tang of the ocean. His absolute favorite feeling is being out on the ocean, surrounded by nothing save the distant horizon. He knows the work they do is worth doing, but what he really looks forward to is the moments when there’s nothing ahead, nothing behind. When it’s him and the Impala and the sea.

***

“You know how we’re crooks?” Ruby muses under her breath as the three of them teeter their way up the steep incline toward the village. They went west from the beach and into the surrounding forests, planning to hit the place from the side so they can avoid anyone coming down the switchbacks towards the beach and the noise made by the fight with the errant.

Anna has to grab a fistful of a nearby plant to stop herself from tumbling backwards down the hill, but she manages to tell Ruby to shut up for the third time.

“You gotta go with your gut,” she informs them pointedly. “And this mission stunk from the get go.”

“Ruby. Please.” Cas grunts, practically bent double trying to keep his balance. His clothes are doing their best to dry, but he’s still chilly.

“You’re telling me this all sounds kosher?” Ruby asks dubiously. “Crowley already fucked us over once.”

“We’ve been through worse,” is all Cas says.

“True that,” Anna mutters.

Ruby snorts inelegantly, but backs off for the time being, probably because it’s not that easy to have an argument when sneaking up a steep hill.

They finally crest the hill, their hands and knees covered in dirt where they kept falling over. Anna has a branch stuck in her hair and Ruby casually plucks it out and tosses it off to the side. Cas takes a moment to catch his breath and survey their surroundings. According to Crowley, the package is in the nicest house in the village, and from what they’d been able to tell from their navigations, that means the house is on the complete other side of town. They would’ve come up the other side, but it’s a cliff face instead of a gradual incline.

The village is mostly made up of shack-like homes, and from what Cas can tell, they all seem to be on the same side of the poverty line. There are a couple of lit candles in the windows, probably of the homes with residents that went down to the beach to check on the commotion. There’s no one wandering around right now, but that could change at a moment’s notice with a bunch of people coming and going.

The three of them move laterally to crouch behind an empty shop, gathering their bearings. As soon as they’re hidden from sight, a group of men emerge from a house a little ways down, torches in hand. Weapons glint at their waists as they make their way down the trail to the beach.

Cas nods.

“Okay,” he assents, “I’m not above admitting we fucked this one up.”

 “We fuck every one up,” Ruby reminds him.

“That’s true.”

“It’s part of the fun, isn’t it?” Anna deadpans. “Besides, having some of the more well-endowed villagers down at the beach might be good for us.”

“Except now the majority of the village is on high alert,” Cas says. “Though you’re right. If we get caught, it’ll take them much longer to come for us from the beach.”

“Wow, would you look at those silver linings,” Ruby deadpans. “So incredibly silver. So very good at being lines.”

“Ruby, just go back to the boat if you’re going to keep complaining.”

Immediately, Ruby turns around and starts to walk away.

“Cool. See you later, boss.”

“No, wait, Ruby! _Ruby_!” Cas hisses, throwing a fervent glance at the wakened houses. Ruby stops and turns around, brow lifted. “I was being sarcastic,” he admits.

“I know,” Ruby says as she returns to her original spot. “Consider this a lesson learned. Stop.”

Cas narrows his eyes at her.

“I’m very funny,” he warns her.

“Tell me a joke,” she challenges.

“Really?” Anna asks flatly, looking between them.

Cas stares hard at Ruby for a moment, then blinks and looks away.

“Right,” he refocuses, “The coast seems to be clear so let’s go.”

“Thought so,” Ruby mumbles satisfactorily as she follows her crewmates.

Cas and Ruby have had a contentious relationship, to say the least, since she joined his crew. Not that it matters, since Cas has a contentious relationship with almost everyone. Cas sees Ruby as a fighter one step too close to outright chaos, and Ruby sees Cas as a space pirate who isn’t much of the second part. But for the ‘space’ part, she supposes they got that part right, she’s told him. His head is in the stars half the time.

They’ve just skirted passed their first house when Cas hears a couple voices coming their way. He steps back into the shadows so quickly he almost knocks Anna onto her ass, and with her glare hot on the back of his head they listen to the two men as they pass in the dark.

“TheImpala should be here soon,” One says to the other. “They made the call about twenty minutes ago.”

The second man grumbles.

“It’s probably just a stray night,” he complains. “There’s plenty of us and one of them. Why do we need Golden Boy Winchester and his ducklings? I’m sure they all have babies they’d rather be kissing somewhere.”

The first man shakes his head and _tsk_ s.

“They’re helping people. Why you have a problem with that I’ll never understand.”

“You know who his parents were,” The second man argues. “And we all know Winchester is a deserter anyway.”

Their voices fade as they, too, head towards the beach. Ruby pokes him in the ribs.

“Do we know who this Winchester is?” she asks.

“No,” Cas says, “But I can guess he’s probably the closest thing to an authority this planet has.”

Cas has seen these types of do-gooders before. On anarchic or poor planets, usually someone- either someone with a heightened sense of superiority or someone who likes the idea of lording over everyone- will take the reigns and claim themselves some kind of “protector”. They’re generally assholes of some calibre or another, and Cas has dealt with more than one in his time.

He’s sure this one won’t be any different.

They continue to make their way through the village, eyes peeled and hands near their weapons. It’s not like they’re in the business of killing innocent civilians, but they’re certainly no strangers to bluffing themselves out of bad situations. On one memorable occasion Anna gave a guy a shave with an arrow close enough that one of his eyebrows singed off as he chased them back to their ship. Ruby was laughing so hard at the man’s eyebrow hairs flying off into the wind as he chased them that she almost got caught.

However, not every story is as funny as that one. Cas has no problem crossing swords with rapists or murderers or slavers, and even less of one driving said sword through their hearts. But drawing a blade against a man who was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, or a man thinking he has to defend his people from Cas, is the reason Cas tries to keep these jobs flying as under the radar as possible. Not every for-hire crew out there is as discerning, and Cas knows there’s at least more than a few who delight in the mayhem and bloodshed they bring. Ruby- despite her practicality- and Uriel- despite his position as pilot- very rarely agree with his philosophies, and they tend let him know loudly and frequently. They may hate each other, but the one thing they can agree on is that Cas is too soft hearted for this life.

A lot of the time, Cas actually agrees with them.

“Okay,” Ruby says after another couple of tense minutes of finding nothing, “Where the fuck is this house and why the fuck didn’t Crowley give us a specific location?”

“Where the fuck why the fuck?” Anna repeats dryly, and Ruby makes a face at her.

“He said it would be obvious,” Cas relays, frustrated, feeling incredibly dunderheaded to have taken _Crowley_ at his word. They’ve known each other for long enough that Crowley’s edges have sanded off in Cas’ eyes, as if he’s not some kind of murderous, vile little shit. Cas can’t help that Crowley is generally so ineffectual he loses his villainous luster, but he _can_ help falling for that act, because it most assuredly is an act. It’s how Crowley gets under people’s skin. It’s his shtick. It’s why Cas has worked more than one job for the bastard.  

As if on cue, his tin can crackles quietly.

“Having trouble, my loves?” asks Crowley’s smug, pompous voice.

They have to dive out of sight again at the sound, and Cas angrily snaps his collar up.

“What have you sent us into, Crowley?” he snaps. “You’ve certainly left some important parts out of your instructions. It’s sloppy is what it is.”

The tin can crackles and pops momentarily. It’s shitty tech that they should have replaced long ago, but they just never have the means or the access.

“Sloppy?!” Crowley bleats, offended, and Cas has to cover it with a hand so the sound doesn’t carry. “This is the furthest thing from sloppy, Castiel.”

Cas takes a step further away from the main path, Anna and Ruby following him.

“Yeah, well, you’re the one contacting me during a job- _your_ job, if I recall correctly,” Cas hisses. “You know that’s not how these things work.”

“Oh, well then, I’ll just leave you geniuses to it,” Crowley retorts. “Since you’ve had so much success already. Got the cavalry on red alert nice and quickly, didn’t you?”

“I don’t have time for witty banter,” Cas snaps. “Get to the point.”

Crowley sighs from wherever he is, probably off-planet in a cozy little ship’s cabin.

“You’re not witty, Cas,” he laments, and just when Cas is about to protest, he continues, “I’ve got remote eyes on you. Three houses down, on the right. It overlooks the beach. I don’t know exactly where it is, but these people live in hovels. It shouldn’t be that hard to spot. Good?”

Cas flicks off his tin in annoyance. They usually always keep it on for emergencies, but he just can’t be assed to deal with Crowley anymore tonight. Following his lead, Anna and Ruby click theirs off as well.

They find their way to the house on Crowley’s directions without any further issues, and after a quick lock pick, they’re inside and rifling.

“He really wants this macguffin,” Ruby points out, opening every dresser drawer and throwing things around with way too much aplomb.

“They aren’t supposed to know we’ve been here,” Cas reminds her as he checks under the bed, “Which means no throwing shirts halfway across the room.” He moves to the nightstand. “And what are you talking about?”

Ruby snorts.

“Oh, nothing,” she says lightly, “Just that if anyone knows that you shouldn’t radio in during a mission, it’s Crowley. He kept the info from us for a reason, and radioed in for a reason. Whatever we’re retrieving for him is big game.”

“Doesn’t matter how big the game is,” Cas lies, “We’re just here to do a job.”

“Oy,” Ruby shakes her head. “Whatever.”

Cas keeps casting furtive glances out the window, but the amount of torches down at the beach remain the same. At least, he thinks. He’s debating on whether or not the cluster has gotten smaller when Anna returns from the other part of the house, triumphant. She’s holding a slim, clean cut black box with silver etching on the side.

“Got it,” she announces.

***

 When they arrive at the beach, Dean takes Jo, Victor, and Benny along. Victor is technically their 'security' guy, so he's usually in the land party whenever they find themselves dealing with trouble. Apparently he used to be a sheriff or something before the war, so Dean mostly lets him handle any legalities they may come across. Jo's damn quick and real handy with knives. People like to misjudge her based on her small stature, and that bad judgement has come in handy in more than one sticky situation. Benny basically tags along because Dean likes having extra muscle around, but also because Benny's a cooler head than the rest of them, and generally more diplomatic as well. Jo calls him a teddy bear behind his back and Dean can't tell if it's a joke or not. Jo was there when they met Benny, so she knows his history just as good as he does.

There's already a crowd on the sand as they disembark, and Dean knows more than a few of them are biting their tongues. Not everyone takes kindly to their presence, or the feather on his hat. It makes people think he's uppity, and he knows that, but he's also forced himself to believe the authority he carries means something and that he can do good with it. Garth's port is a lot friendlier to them than most, but a lot of people see them as nothing more than two-bit deserters, which is, technically, correct. Jo usually tells these people to fuck off, but Dean's more likely to let them have at it, mostly because they're right- unless they're talking's aimed at his crew, that is. As far as Dean's concerned, he's the only one on that boat who's fair game in those regards.

A man wearing a deep red sash steps forward to meet them, and Dean tries not to make a face, but obviously fails since the man's own expression gives way to a humble grin.

"Not a religious man, Captain Winchester?" he asks, extending a hand.

Dean takes it.

"Certainly didn't expect to see one down here tonight," is all he says in return.

The man nods in understanding.

"Of course," he says, "I like to keep an eye my congregation. Having half of them eaten by nights would hardly do much for church attendance."

Dean smiles weakly.

"No judgements here," he promises, "so long as I can expect a two way street."

The man nods deeply.

"You don't even have to call me Pastor," he says dryly. "Jim is just fine."

Happy to get right to it, Dean soldiers on.

"Okay, Jim, what seems to be the problem here?"

"Strange lights were spotted down at the beach earlier tonight," he explains, "and a couple residents saw a space worthy craft dock and leave in a short time."

Dean nods slowly.

"You got any valuables in this village?" he asks, "I mean any kind of loot."

Jim shakes his head.

"Very little," he says. "We're barely getting by most of the time."

"Probably a job," Jo chips in.

"I'm sorry," Jim says politely, "a 'job'?"

"There are all kinds of people in this galaxy who either make a buck by paying people to come down to disenfranchised planets like ours and loot, or scavengers come on their own to scout the place out," Dean explains.

"But we don't have anything worth taking," Jim protests, "who would come to Thare to loot?" He asks, confused.

Dean shrugs.

"Might have to do with the war. Some people will pay a lot for something touched by Erebus that isn't ash."

One of the men standing slightly behind the pastor mumbles, "like he'd know," just loud enough for Dean for hear.

Jo's eyebrows skyrocket as she turns to face the speaker.

"Excuse me?" She asks, taking a step forward. "Or, y’know, excuse _you_."

Dean puts an arm out in front of her to stop her from advancing.

"It's fine," he tells her, communicating a finer meaning with a pointed glance her way.

Pastor Jim looks embarrassed, and turns to mutter something to the man. Glaring at Dean, the man turns on his heel and walks away.

"I'm terribly sorry," Jim says. "It's a stressful time."

"Yeah, you better be," Jo snaps. "We're helping you assholes."

" _Jo_ ", Dean says firmly, as Benny steps forward to put a hand on her shoulder.

Dean looks over the small crowd assembled in front of him.

"We _are_ here to help," he assures them. "Nothing unsavory, I promise." He wants to add that even though desertion isn't contagious, he promises not to touch any of their unmentionable drawers, but keeps his mouth shut.

"I really do apologize for him," Jim says.

"It's fine," Dean says again. Then, all business, "you should send your men back up to the village. Whoever came in that ship is probably already up there snooping around. And, pastor, if you don't mind, we'll take the prisoners once they've been apprehended."

"I've been informed of the protocol," Jim says, and for some reason that line bothers Dean way more than he expects it to. He swallows it, though, and follows the pastor and his flock back up to the village.

"You see those marks in the sand back there?" Victor asks him, falling into step.

Dean nods.

"Looks like they managed to take down a night right off the boat."

"Which means we should be careful. They probably know what they're doing."

"Honestly," Dean says, "I'm more worried about the ones who don't know what they're doing. No one likes a trigger happy finger."

Victor claps him on the shoulder.

“I’ve got your trigger finger covered, no worries.”

“Oh gee, thanks.”

They walk in silence up the switchbacks to the village, and Dean shivers in the cool air. He hasn’t bought another coat yet, and the way supplies have been running on Thare lately, it’s unlikely he’ll get another one anytime soon.

The village is a small grouping of squat stone houses, most likely made by the oddly shaped glaciers that covered this part of the planet years and years ago. Over time, animals began burrowing into the stone, and people followed their lead not too long after that. Villages like these, as far as Dean knows, grew up around a religion that worshipped the old glaciers as monolithic deities. The cold weather generally comes whenever it wants, and when it does, the shoreline freezes just far enough out that it’s impossible for any supply ships to dock for weeks on end, so the people offer gifts to their ice gods to recede once more from the ocean so they can prosper again.

Although it hasn’t been cold in a long time, “prospering” is hardly the word Dean would use to describe the village. Either their glacier guy hasn’t been doing his job, or a glacier is just a glacier and this world is sinking, mountainside worshippers or not. The people have a sickly look to them, their clothes hanging off them at strange angles and their skin wan. It’s not like Dean’s crew always gets three square meals a day, but that familiar feeling of self-consciousness creeps up on him again, and he pulls at his sleeves uncomfortably. He knows he’s seen by some as nothing but a deserter who sticks his nose in places it doesn’t belong, and those people would probably be right. Dean likes to think he continues doing what he does because he’s just oh-so-noble, but he’s pretty sure it’s because there’s nothing else he _could_ do. 

He does what he does because it’s all he can do. Hardly a heroic narrative.

When they finally reach the entrance to the village, they stop for a moment to gather their bearings. Jim is a little out of breath and smiles apologetically as he collapses onto a nearby rock.

“Just give me a moment,” he says, and Jo taps her foot impatiently.

“Jo, I don’t know why you’re squirrelling for a fight so bad-” Dean starts, but gets interrupted.

“She’s always squirrellin’ for a fight,” Benny offers in his lazy drawl, and Jo turns around to punch him in the arm.

“D’you _wanna_ fight, big man?” she challenges.

“I can assure you he doesn’t,” Dean says neutrally, though he needn’t have bothered. Benny’s eyes are twinkling and even Jo’s got a ghost of a smile on her lips.

Pastor Jim rejoins them, laying a hand on Dean’s shoulder that he tries not to automatically cringe away from, though he does side-eye it something fierce and Jo has to hold back a snort.

“I’ll take the first half of this side,” he offers, inclining his head to the far row of houses, “If that’s okay with you, of course,” he adds hastily, looking at Dean.

“Whatever floats your boat,” Dean says, “Though, shouldn’t you have someone with you? No offense, but I don’t think your faith is going to light the way on this one.”

“That’s kind of you to offer,” Jim replies, “But our belief system doesn’t work like that, and I think I’m set.” To articulate his point, he rummages around in an inside pocket of his robe and pulls out an ugly ass revolver, spinning the chamber with a smile.

Dean raises his eyebrows.

“Okey doke,” he says. “I guess Mr. Sherriff there is on his own. The rest of you,” he looks to his crew, “you know the drill, let’s check the row opposite and catch some bad guys.”

***

They take _maybe_ three minutes to determine that it is, indeed, the box they’re looking for, and of course it’s that three minutes that makes all the difference.

Cas definitely doesn’t miss the line of people trickling back up from the beach, and he proves as much by continually hissing at Anna and Ruby to _hurry the fuck up already_ as they secure the box and prepare to make their escape.

The house has only one exit, and it’s the front door. None of them could fit through the window without breaking it, and breaking it would be way too loud. Cas takes a moment to curse his own stupidity for not bringing a glasscutter.

“Okay,” he says, rubbing his forehead, “Okay, it’s fi-”

“Cas!” Anna interrupts, looking at something behind him, hand immediately going back to grab her bow. Ruby drops the box with a worrying thud and scrambles for her knife.

But they’re too late, and something metal whips across the back of Cas’ head. He blinks hazily and sees Ruby charge forward at whoever’s behind him and Anna aims an arrow, but he blacks out before he can get a good look at his attacker.

***

“Someone probably dropped a lantern off the side of the cliff and everyone freaked out,” Jo grumbles, sheathing her dagger and staring, annoyed, at a wall. “There’s nothing here.”

“We still have more houses,” Dean reminds her, shuffling by to check under the bed.

“Maybe whatshisface Jim is having more luck,” she sighs.

***

Cas knows he hasn’t been out long. He can still feel the blood dripping out of the wound on his head. He has a cloth tied around his mouth and something extremely tight binding his wrists.

Behind him, Anna and Ruby are tied up back to back, wrists bound together and similar gags in their mouths. He briefly makes eye contact with them to let them know he’s okay and make sure they’re okay as well, and then turns to face… someone.

Cas doesn’t recognize this particular someone, but he’s holding their box and sitting on what looks like an incredibly uncomfortable stone chair. He’s got a red sash around his torso, and the cogs in Cas’ mind start turning to try and place it. The man stares at Cas.

“It’s rude to break into other people’s homes,” he says idly, resting his hands on top of the box in his lap.

Cas says nothing and chews on his gag.

“Oh,” the man says, as if he’d forgotten about the rag he’d stuffed into Cas’ mouth only moments ago, “my apologies.” He gently sets the box down and comes over to Cas, untying the gag.

“It’s ruder to pistol whip people,” Cas says dryly.

The man returns to his seat, returns to his box.

“Do you even know what this is?” he asks quietly, petting it like it’s some kind of animal.

“Commission,” Cas says shortly.

The man nods slowly.

“So you’re one of those brainless groups of thugs-for-hire,” he muses, looking between the three of them. “Interesting. Who sent you?”

Cas keeps his mouth shut. Even though he has no alliance with Crowley, and would be happier than not about seeing him in some hot water, Cas usually tries to stick to some kind of code. More importantly, if word ever got out that he ratted on an employer, no one would ever hire them again.

He wiggles his hands behind his back, trying to work the knots of the rope loose enough that he can slide his wrists out, but they’re much too tight. Hopefully Anna and Ruby are having better luck. Cas knows Ruby keeps at least three hidden blades on her at all times for situations just like these. It’s just a matter of her getting to one before their attacker notices.

A long silence stretches between them as the man looks at Cas expectantly. Cas is busy staring at the sash over his chest, trying to place it. It must be some kind of religious order, and if there’s anything Cas knows, it’s religion. It’s awfully obscure though, probably something native to this planet, maybe even this port. It’s common for home grown religions to either pop up or gain steam on planets that have been attacked by the Cult of Erebus, something about a newfound sense of community and xenophobia all rolled into one. Cas can understand it to a point, but he’s misplaced his faith before and he’s in no hurry to find it again. Apparently, some people just really need something to believe in.

“Okay,” the man sighs regretfully, standing up again. He leaves the box on the table and comes towards Cas, rolling up his sleeves. Cas braces himself for a good knockaround, but before the guy can even land the first blow, there’s the sound of a chair being knocked over behind him, and a stream of dark hair flies past Cas and attacks the guy with a knife.

“Shit,” Cas mumbles amidst the chaos, working his hands harder against the ropes. The guy manages to elbow Ruby in the face and she staggers backwards, blood dripping down her nose. The guy reaches into his holster for his gun, and a bright light whizzes so close by Cas’ head that he can smell singed hair. The arrow hits the man right through the shoulder, dissolving on impact, and he yells in pain, falling to one knee. Ruby kicks him in the face hard enough the collapses all the way onto the floor, and now sports a similar bloody nose.

“You okay?” Anna asks as she comes up behind him, slicing through the ropes with her spare dagger.

“This is the second time I’ve almost been shot by one of your arrows tonight, and the second time you’ve saved our asses,” Cas says, rubbing his sore wrists. “I’m starting to think I’m your good luck charm.”

“Hardly,” Anna snorts.

The guy moans and starts to attempt to get himself off the floor, but Ruby casually steps on his back and he collapses back down with a grunt.

“You got us once,” Ruby tells him sweetly. “That’s all you get.”

“Okay, we should get out of here,” Cas says, glancing out the window, “They probably heard the scuffle.”

“‘Scuffle,’” Ruby repeats derisively as she grabs the guy by the collar and yanks him up.

“What do we do with him?” she asks, “Throw him off the cliff? Nail his sash thing to the wall with him still in it?”

Cas rolls his eyes.

“Just tie him up, Ruby,” he says. “We don’t need any more bloodshed tonight.

“You’re no fun,” Ruby complains, but she drags him towards the chair anyway. Anna grabs the rope and moves to help her.

Cas goes to inspect the box, but he can’t find any kind of latch or button that’ll open it.

“Hey,” he says over his shoulder, “Any chance you want to tell us what’s in this box, or how to open it?”

When he doesn’t get an answer, he turns around to find the guy out cold, Ruby and Anna staring at him in disdain.

“He fainted,” Ruby says, kicking his foot. “It’s way less fun to tie him up like this.”

“Just do it,” Cas waves a hand vaguely. “And let’s get out of here.” The box is small enough that he can slip it into the inside pocket of his waistcoat, and he pats it in satisfaction.

“Sorry,” a new voice says from the entrance, “You’re not going anywhere.”

Cas turns and meets the gaze of the newcomer, and makes sure to keep a very, very straight face when he sees the hat he’s currently sporting. He also happens to sober because there’s currently a shotgun pointed at his face.

More people file in behind him, a short, pale blond woman, a big beefy guy, and a bald, dark skinned guy who looks like he’s had some official training with this kind of stuff. They all have various weapons pointed at either him, Anna, or Ruby.

“Drop ‘em,” Hat guy says to Anna and Ruby, who then look at him. On Cas’ nod, they lay their weapons down.

“You wouldn’t happen to be Winchester, would you?” Cas asks coolly.

Hat guy looks at him with raised brows.

“So my name proceeds me, huh?”

“Your hat does, at least.”

The blond girl snorts at that, but quickly stifles it when Winchester glares at her.

“You’ve got a rude mouth for someone who just got caught,” he reminds Cas, taking a step forward. “Turn around,” he orders, gesturing with the shotgun.

Cas complies, and feels his hands get tied again for the second time tonight.  

“You kill that guy?” Winchester asks, inclining his head towards their other unwelcome guest, still conked out in his chair. The beefy guy is leaning over him, checking for a pulse.

“He started it,” is all Cas says.

“Oh, I bet he did,” Winchester mumbles, yanking the ropes way tighter than they need to be. “Benny,” he says over his shoulder, “He alive?”

“He’s been knocked around a bit, but he’ll be okay,” Benny confirms. “Probably come to in a few.”

“He was probably gonna kill us, you know,” Ruby says, “At least we had the decency to just tie him up.”

“And shoot him in the shoulder, from the looks of things,” Benny observes.

“To stop him from _killing_ us,” Ruby snaps.

“For trespassing in his house,” the blond girl says as she ties Anna’s restraints. “Seems perfectly reasonable to me.”

“Haven’t you ever heard eye for an eye?” Ruby asks, “Damn, fuck this planet’s judicial system.”

Winchester rolls his eyes.

“We’re not going to kill you,” he says, “Although if you keep talking my ear off you may leave our jurisdiction with a few more holes than you came in with.”

“‘Jurisdiction,’” Cas scoffs under his breath.

Either Winchester doesn’t hear him or ignores him. He makes sure Ruby and Anna’s restraints are up to snuff, and then returns to drag Cas with him back to wherever the hell they’re going.

Winchester has the bald guy go find someone to take care of the one in the house, and then they’re off, Cas staring balefully out at the ocean the whole way down.

***

Dean relives the guy of his purple sword on their way down to the beach and mostly manages to hold his tongue. Only a quick, “Nice sword,” that goes either unnoticed or unheard. Victor, Benny, Jo, and the two women are a little further back, Jo currently armed to the teeth with their weapons.   

“So are you gonna tell me your name?” Dean asks. “Your rank? What, exactly, you were doing breaking into people’s homes on a piss poor port on an even poorer planet?”

The guy turns around and levels him with a cool stare.

“You want my favorite color, too?” he asks. “My preferred hobbies?”

Dean shoves him forward. “Shaddup.”

The guy shrugs.

“You asked.”

“Things’ll go better for you if you talk,” Dean assures him. “For example,” he gestures out at the ocean, glinting strangely in the darkness, “who’s gonna come looking for you?”

“I assume you’ve got a boat out there somewhere,” Dean continues, “I’d rather trade you three back to your people than call in the big guns.”

“What, you’re _not_ the big guns?” the guy asks sarcastically. “I thought this was your ‘jurisdiction’, after all.”

Dean smiles, big and fake.

“Ooh, petty thieves that don’t like the ones who ruin their fun. Color me surprised.”  

“As opposed to overstuffed pompous assholes like you who have a major superiority complex?” the guy says blandly, “I’ll take petty thievery any day.”

Dean shoves him forward again, this time with a little more force.

“You’ve really pegged me,” he says, voice halfway to dangerous. “I’ve seen the error of my ways. I guess I’ll just let you get back to plundering now.”

“Everything okay up there?” Victor calls from behind them, a slight warning in his voice.

“Peachy,” Dean growls.

When they make it back to the ship, Dean hands the sword off to Jo who takes all the weapons to lock up, while him, Victor, and Benny, drop the prisoners off in the brig. After double checking the locks, they reconvene with Jo on deck.

“Bobby says sorry,” she announces, hurrying over to them as somewhere down below, Charlie gets the Impala moving again. “His leg’s acting up. He says he’s sure you’ll all make totally responsible decisions that he’s positive he’ll agree with no matter what.”

They all break out into a snicker.

“What’d he really say?” Dean asks.

“Uh, something along the lines of ‘fuck you, my leg hurts, leave me alone’.” Jo says.

Dean nods, smiling.

“Always sage advice from the peg leg,” he says.

“He’ll kill you with that peg leg if he hears you call him that,” Victor smirks.

“Let him try.”

Jo inspects her nails breezily.

“So are we gonna chuck ‘em or trade ‘em?” she asks.

Dean looks to Victor and Benny.

“Either of yours say anything about backup coming?”

They both shake their heads.

“Mine either.”

“We could always… y’know,” Jo says leadingly, “Take ‘em to the crop circle.”

Victor scoffs.

“Jo, they broke into a house. It’s not like they’re serial killers.”

“They could be.”

“How ‘bout we take _you_ to the crop circle?” Dean asks.

“Only if you throw that hat in first.”

“I’ll throw the hat in, but only if you eat the feathers.”

Victor leans over to Benny.

“This is our captain,” he mutters. “The man we’ve pledged our swords to.”

Benny raises eyebrows.

“I didn’t pledge anything,” he says laconically, ambling back towards the steering wheel at the other end of the deck. “Tell them my vote is for the trade,” he says over his shoulder as Dean and Jo continue to banter.

Victor runs a hand down his face.

“How about we _talk_ to them first, huh?” he suggests, speaking over Dean and Jo, “Before we make any hasty decisions that could involve getting thrown into a giant hole in the middle of the ocean.”

Dean and Jo fall silent, both staring at Victor. Then, in tandem, they shrug.

“I’ll do it,” Dean says. “I’ll get Purple Sword first. He seems to be the most talkative.”

“See?” Victor asks. “That wasn’t so hard. I’ll bring him up to the broom closet.”

***

The broom closet isn’t a nickname. It’s actually a closet for brooms and other cleaning supplies, but their boat isn’t exactly the biggest one in the air or water, so they have to make do. Whenever they question people, they’ll shove it all into the navigation room down the hall and pretend everything doesn’t smell like ammonia. They add a table, though. And two chairs.

Dean takes a second to adopt his interrogation persona, which is basically his captain persona, which is basically the persona he’s operating under most of the time, so it’s hardly a laborious task. He knocks twice on the door, and a moment later Victor leads Purple Sword in, hands still bound and sporting an awfully neutral expression. Victor deposits him into the chair opposite Dean.

“I’ll be outside,” he tells Dean, though it’s really a warning to Purple Sword.

Victor closes the door behind him, and Dean finally gets a good look at their prisoner. It was too dark to really see him properly outside, and the lighting in the closet is hardly suitable, but it’s enough for Dean to size him up. Dark hair, thick scruff, ruffled all over. Looks like he’s been tossed around more than once. Strong build, wiry, just a little shorter than Dean. Probably spryer and quicker than Dean if he decides he wants to get the drop on him, so he’ll have to watch for that.  

His clothes are old and well worn, but not quite ragged. He’s wearing a simple, light linen shirt that was initially covered up by a great black coat that Jo promptly confiscated on their return to the Impala. He’s got vertically striped black and white pants tucked into leather, knee high boots.

It’s not that that worries Dean, though. Purple Sword is leaning back in his chair, seemingly at ease, but there’s something about him. There’s an intensity emanating off him that makes Dean’s palms sweat, like if he stares at him for too long, he’d combust just on principle alone. His eyes are dark in this tiny, windowless space, but Dean knows they’re searching for the light. The sky was blue, once upon a time, he remembers. Before Erebus. Purple Sword seems to have eyes to match.

“So,” Dean says, crossing his arms, “You gonna give me a name? Or am I gonna be calling you Purple Sword for the duration?”

He shrugs.

“You can call me whatever you want, I suppose.”

Dean leans forward a little bit.

“You’d be surprised by how far a name can get you.”

Purple Sword tilts his head just a fraction of a degree.

“Will I get upgraded to the next biggest broom closet?” He whispers conspiratorially.

Dean shakes his head.

“I’m trying to help you, y’know,” he reminds the guy.

Purple Sword settles further into his chair, as if he’s getting comfortable. The smallest of smirks has made its way onto his face, just barely pulling the corners of his mouth up.

“I’m sure you are,” he says, condescension leaking from every syllable.

“I assume this isn’t your first time getting caught with your hand in the cookie jar, then?” Dean asks, trying to ignore how that smug expression on Purple Sword’s face is pressing the exact right buttons to piss him off. 

Purple Sword raises his eyebrows slightly.

“Not the first, not the last,” he promises, though maybe _threatens_ is a better word for it.

Dean shrugs, expression careless.

“I haven’t heard of you,” he says.

Purple Sword shrugs right back at him.

“That’s because I’m good at what I do.”

“So you’re a smuggler,” Dean surmises, “You do whatever pays for the fuel, am I right?”

“No.”

“Okay. Enlighten me.”

Purple Sword says nothing. He just stares at him.

“Alright,” Dean allows, “Tell me what you were doing robbing that guy’s house.”

Dean rolls his eyes, and reaches into his pocket and pulls out the slim black case Purple Sword and his crew had been trying to lift. He gets a quick pulse of satisfaction as Purple Sword’s eyes widen, his hand automatically patting the pockets of his waistcoat to no avail.

“Did I mention,” Dean wonders aloud, “that my friend Jo has awfully sticky fingers as well?”

“That’s mine,” Purple Sword says, almost petulantly.

Dean actually laughs.

“You stole this from a freakin’ holy man, dude. Give it up.”

It’s Purple Sword’s turn to laugh, though it’s an incredulous one.

“The man we stole this from is the furthest thing from holy,” he informs Dean.

“What, cause he knocked you and your crew around the block?” Dean asks snidely. “You come to this planet, all kinds’ll rattle your teeth in your head if you give them even the smallest reason.”

Purple Sword is shaking his head, staring at Dean in almost pity.

“Anyone in possession of that box is not a good person,” Purple Sword says gravely. “Your conscience would have been much more satiated if you had detained him instead of us.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Dean asks. “What’s in the fucking box?”

“I don’t know.”

“ _What_?”

Purple Sword shrugs again.

Dean stands up and massages his temples.

“You know that you’re technically stealing the box now?” Purple Sword says helpfully. “Maybe you should be the one tied up.”

“We’re- we _were_ -” Dean pauses for just a moment to figure his tongue out, reminds himself to stay on course- “We’re going to send it back, obviously,” he snaps.

“If you hadn’t shown up in the first place the good old holy man of Whiterun would’ve killed us all by now and the box never would’ve been stolen in the first place,” Purple Sword says serenely.

“Well, according to you he’s a bad man anyway,” Dean argues. “Maybe he shouldn’t have the box at all.”

“And you should?”

Dean nods.

“Better us than him.”

Purple Sword makes a disgusted sound in the back of his throat.

“You’re a real fucking martyr,” he says.

Dean narrows his eyes.

“We keep _order_ ,” he says, jaw clenched. “Why I’m trying to justify myself to you is beyond fucking me.”

“Maybe you’re so annoyed because you think I have a point. Or, you already knew it and I’m just vocalizing it for you.”

There’s not much room in the broom closet to dramatically invade another person’s space, but Dean does the best he can with what he’s got, and points a finger directly at Purple Sword.

“We help people,” he states firmly, pushing all doubts aside, “We keep them safe from people like _you_ , people who like to take advantage of the disadvantaged.”

“Nice mission statement,” Purple Sword says neutrally, though Dean can tell he’s not the only one who’s got a little adrenaline pumping. The set of Purple Sword’s jaw is harsh, his eyes flashing when he thinks Dean’s not looking. 

“Okay,” Dean backs off, sitting down again. “Say I believe you, the box is bad, blah blah. So what would we do about it?”

“Give it to me,” Purple Sword says immediately.

“Yeah, nice try.”

“If you really have to know, we’re only the middleman,” he says. “I don’t know what’s in it, I don’t know its purpose. All I know is that my buyer has some kind of connection to the Cult of Erebus.”

Dean stands up so fast he knocks over his chair.

“ _Stay_ ,” he orders, pointing at Purple Sword. He sweeps out of the room, tells Victor to stay standing guard, and goes to find Jo.

***

“Hey nincompoops,” Bela announces over the comm, “Get up to the bridge. We’ve got a problem.”

Uriel turns to look at her, his usual growly eyebrows set firmly in place. Bela eyebrows him right back.

“What? You call them way worse names.”

Uriel shakes his head.

“Balthazar came back because of a superficial injury. It doesn’t look good.”

“Balthazar _is_ a baby,” Bela concedes, “but he _did_ have an arrow shot through his palm. He only would’ve slowed them down, and then would’ve been useless in combat to boot.”

“He’s a coward,” Uriel claims. “If he and Gabriel had stayed with the group, we might not have had this problem.”

“You’re giving the intrepid duo an awful lot of credit,” she says, eyebrows raised.

“They’re bodies,” Uriel stresses, “Numbers are important.”

“We both know Gabe and Balthazar couldn’t change a lightbulb if they were given a picture diagram and their lives depended on it.”

“They’re useless,” Uriel says, “but it doesn’t matter. They fucked this up.”

“Aw,” Bela smirks, “You’re just sour because they started calling you ‘Urinal’ again.”

There’s a clang from the doorway.

“Do-est my ears deceive me or are they burning?” Gabriel asks as he steps into the room, Balthazar right behind. “Are you guys shit talking us again? Cause we were totally just shit talking you.”

“We were, actually,” Bela says, “But that’s not the emergency.”

“Our intrepid warriors haven’t returned yet, I assume?” Balthazar asks.

“With no thanks to you,” Uriel says pointedly.

“Mate, I can’t even hold a spoon, let alone a weapon,” Balthazar says. “So feel free to sod off.”

“This is fun,” Bela says, “But we have more important things to worry about.”

Gabriel snorts.

“Those three have been in more jams than a PB&J. If we try and lift them out from wherever they are, we’ll probably just mess up step thirty six of some wildly elaborate escape plan.”

“Who even says they got caught?” Balthazar asks. “We can’t be an entire crew of incompetents. Someone has to be good at their job.”

“Have you met us?” Gabe says sarcastically at the same time Uriel and Bela say, “Me.”

Bela rolls her eyes as she points to something on her screen.

“Starkisser picked up the presence of another ship at port. Four people came off the boat, met with a mob at the beach, and seven came back on. The additional three were being ‘escorted’ onboard.”

“It’s sufficient evidence,” Uriel says, like that closes the case.

“So we’re just going to bust in there and fight a group of people we know nothing about?” Balthazar asks. “Seems like a solid plan.”

“We were thinking more along the lines of diplomacy,” Bela says, eyeing Gabe and Balthazar doubtfully. “You guys do know what that is, right?”

“Why not call Crowley?” Gabe asks. “His job, his problem.”

“This is _part_ of the job,” Uriel snaps. “Are you going to betray your comrades and Captain?”

“No one said anything about betrayal, Urinal, sheesh,” Gabe says, hands out. “All this overreaction is gonna give me a rash.”

Uriel bristles, but Bela steps in before anything else can happen.

“Okay, so we’re following the bad guys,” she announces, pressing a couple buttons on the dashboard. “To get our own bad guys back. Hurrah.”

***

Cas drums his fingers on his thigh impatiently. He heard Winchester tell his body guard to stay outside, and every couple minutes glances at the door as if he’ll be able to tell when the coast is clear on the other side. Though that doesn’t do much to help him, since Anna and Ruby are still locked up downstairs where he can’t get to them.

As soon as he mentioned Erebus, he thought Winchester was going to faint on the spot, which was an interesting development. It makes sense, anyway, that a guy sailing around a world decimated in the wake of an invasion by an evil cult, righting wrongs and being generally way too noble about it would probably be upset if he learned the echoes of said evil cult were still kicking around. It’s something Cas will eventually be able to use to his advantage if he plays his cards right. He assumes Winchester went to discuss this sudden revelation with another shipmate somewhere, probably trying to come up with a new strategy to get him to talk. Every once in a while, though, the voices go loud, harsh. Like he’s arguing. It’s a waste of time, though, because Cas has no problem discussing Erebus, since it’s not his own operation and he fucking hates them. Of course, he wouldn’t drop _that_ particular ammo into Winchester’s lap.     

All he knows for sure is that he’s not working for Crowley’s sorry ass anymore, and if he ever sees him again, he’s going to launch him into deep space without a helmet.

Idly, Cas gives the ropes around his wrists a tug. Despite the shitty accommodations, these guys at least know how to tie a knot to make sure it sticks. So instead, he rocks backwards in his chair so that it’s resting on only its back legs, kicking his feet up onto the table. No doubt it’ll piss Winchester off, but it also gives him a better angle of pressure to try and break through the ropes by using the friction between the chair and the bonds. The difference between these bonds and the ones on Whiterun is merely time. That, and a decided lack of hidden blades to cut through them. He carefully starts rubbing, making sure not to chafe his wrists badly enough that it’ll dampen his fighting abilities if he does, by some miracle, escape. When he hears the doorknob turn, he immediately angles himself so that his body is fully blocking his hands, but doesn’t stop. Any conversation will cover the sounds of the rope.

Winchester returns, and if possible, he looks more consternated than before, and that’s before he even registers Cas’ boots on the table with a flash of annoyance. For longer than Cas thinks is necessary, Winchester just stands there, staring right at him. Cas, without missing a beat, stares right back. His eyes are way more alien than Winchester’s, icy blue beating warm evergreen in the race to the uncanny valley no problem. Cas has just never had to blink as much as other people, and doesn’t stop the smirk that crosses his face when Dean blinks first, looking away with a tick in his jaw.

“Who’s your buyer?” Winchester asks gruffly, crossing his arms.

Cas takes his time answering, still subtly trying to fray his bonds behind him. He settles back in his chair a little, watching Winchester speculatively. He makes sure to obviously wet his lips, lazily looking him up and down. He almost laughs because he can practically feel the flush rushing up Winchester’s neck from here, even if he can’t see it.

“Is this some kind of power play?” Cas asks mockingly, “Are you going to _make_ me talk?”

Cas doesn’t always goad his captors. He’s a smart guy, can usually get a vibe from people in the first couple minutes of meeting them whether they’re liable to smash his head against a wall or not. Cas has no doubts Winchester has smashed a couple heads in his time, but he’s also pretty sure that his perverted sense of righteousness will keep him from getting too violent with a petty thief.

Cas is calling it right here right now. On the inside, Winchester is a big old softie.

He steps forward threateningly.

“I can,” he insists, and Cas almost rolls his eyes.

“Do I look like the kind of space pirate who would give up his buyer?” Cas asks, raising his eyebrows skeptically.

“You don’t look like a space pirate at all,” he says.

“Well, you’ve never seen my sword play,” Cas challenges.

Winchester narrows his eyes at him, sliding back into his chair. He crosses his arms again, looks at Cas like he’s trying to figure him out.

“What’s your game?” he asks. “I mean, you steal this thing for this guy, this guy gives it to Erebus to do who knows what, and it all leads back to you, helping to destroy the universe.”

Cas sets his jaw.

“There’s no way to know if he was going to give it to Erebus, and even if he did, who’s to say they’re going to use it for destruction?”

Winchester snorts laughter, but there’s a tightness to his movements that suggests some real anger simmering underneath. He uncrosses his arms, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table between them, searching Cas’ face. For the first time today, he feels a stab of discomfort.

“Look around you, pal,” Winchester says darkly. “Look at this shitshow of a planet. Fuck, I don’t know where you been or what you been doing all these years, but Erebus is bad news. Even a two bit crook like you should know to stay out of their way.”

Cas leans forward too, slowing his work on the ropes for a minute.

“I know what Erebus is capable of,” he says quietly, dropping the smug tone completely.

Silence falls between them, and they both lean back again, Cas resuming work on the ropes and Winchester still eyeing him up. Evidently, he decides to give Cas the benefit of the doubt, which doesn’t surprise Cas at all.

“So if you know,” he says, “Then why take the job in the first place? Why make their work any easier for ‘em?”

Cas shakes his head slightly in disbelief.

“Someone was going to take the job,” he says, “May as well be us.”

It’s obviously the wrong thing to say, because Winchester’s expression goes hard and Cas can see the very slight progress he made reversing completely. Winchester leans all the way back in his chair, eyes flinty.

“You’re pathetic,” he says, dangerously quiet. “You’re a coward.”

Cas has no other option here, because the discomfort is really twisting him now. He reverts, coaxing his smirk back out at full blast and working the condescending glint into his expression. 

“You caught me,” he says, shrugging, “I’m a sellout.”

Cas genuinely thinks Winchester is about to spit right in his face, but he takes a few long breaths and manages to smooth his face back out.

“We’re willing to deal,” he says.  “Tell your buyer to back the fuck off Thare, and we’ll grant you and your friends safe passage back to your ship, provided you never show your faces here again.”

“We have such nice faces, though,” Cas says lightly. He tries not to let the surprise show on his face when he feels the ropes around his wrists loosen just a tad. He might have to break a finger or two to slip out, but it could actually be possible. He still doesn’t have a plan for how, exactly, he’s going to escape, but the cogs are turning.

“We’re basically letting you off the hook,” Winchester says, “You might want to take us up on it.”

“Was it put to a vote?” Cas asks. “I’m flattered.”

Winchester sighs heavily, shaking his head as he walks right up to Cas, leaning in.

For one, utterly bizarre second, Cas thinks he’s about to be kissed. Then, Winchester’s eyes drop down to his chest and he pulls open the flap of Cas’ vest, poking at where he had been carrying the box earlier. He brings it out of his own pocket and waves it in Cas’ face.

“You didn’t really think I didn’t know it was there?” He says teasingly, though his eyes are daring Cas to try talking his way out of this one.

Before Cas can respond, Winchester spins his chair around so that he’s staring at the wall. Cas can’t see what he’s doing, but there’s a sudden pressure on the rope, and then he feels the bonds fall to the floor. Winchester shoves his chair back around and returns to his own seat, pointedly keeping his knife in his hand.

“How stupid do you think I am?” he asks quietly, tapping a knuckle twice on the blade of the knife. “You’re not going anywhere until I say so.”

Cas weighs his options. The knife is just an intimidation tactic, nothing more. Winchester killing him would mean killing Ruby and Anna as well, and then running the risk of retaliation from Cas’ crew, who, for all he knows, have strong ties to Erebus.

But there’s something else that just makes Cas want to push this guy’s buttons. Maybe it’s the dumb hat, or maybe it’s the way he’s acting like everything he’s doing for Cas is a favor, like he wasn’t the one to bust him in the first place.

So when Cas stands up and  launches his chair at Winchester’s head, his intentions aren’t to clobber the guy or anything, but he _would_ like to piss him off, and he _would_ like to get out of here, and chair heaving is probably the only way at the moment that he can accomplish both things at once. Like he expected, Winchester manages to duck mostly out of the way, but stumbles back regardless. Cas vaults the table and is about to launch himself out of the room when the door opens and he gets barrelled into by the beefy security guy and tackled right onto the table, which collapses under their combined weight. Cas reaches for anything he can use as a weapon, and his hand bumps into what he thinks is a chair leg. He grabs it, knocks Mr. Security across the head, and manages to scramble into a standing position. He locks eyes with Winchester across the small room for only a second, then turns and makes a break for it.

Just before he’s through the door he hears a _whoosh_ , a _thump_ , and suddenly he’s stuck in place. He looks down, only to see Winchester’s knife pinning his sleeve to the wall. He yanks hard, and when Winchester is inches away from grabbing him, Cas manages to escape with a loud ripping noise, stumbles out into the hallway, and takes off towards the deck of the ship. The shreds of his sleeve trail behind him like a shooting star, and as he’s running, he rips them off just as he crashes through the doors to the deck, blinking against the starlight. Despite more important things currently happening, Cas can immediately smell the storm in the air. The sky is a dark, dark grey, and it feels like the world is rumbling beneath him.

He needs to find a place to hide, if the commotion not far behind him is anything to go by. Going to Anna and Ruby right away would be a bad idea, and obviously just jumping ship is out of the question. If the rest of Starkisser’s crew are going to come looking for him, it’ll be on this boat. Briefly, Cas flirts with the idea of trying to occupy the ship, but immediately dismisses it, making a face. He has to be practical here.

 _Practical_ , a smooth voice in his head tells him, _would have been staying tied up and playing nice_.

Cas has to move now or risk being caught, so he heads towards the hatch at the center of the ship. The further he moves towards the leaner middle section, the harder the wind blows at him. He almost snorts when he imagines Winchester chasing him out into all this, his hat getting blown into the sea by the wind. Raindrops start hitting the deck as he reaches the hatch, opening the door just enough to slip down. As soon as he’s perched on the stairs below, the sky really opens up, the bullets of rain on wood harsh and unforgiving.

Figuring Winchester and co will assume he came down this way, Cas smoothly swings himself into the hollow part under the stairs, cautiously stepping back into the shadows. The hallway stretches both in front of and behind him, and he has to make sure he can’t be seen from either angle. Seconds later, the hatch door is yanked open again, and what feels like entire buckets of water spill down into the hallway. Two heavy treads thunder down the stairs, and Cas immediately recognizes Winchester and his crony.

“Okay,” the other guy says, “You go towards the engine room, I’ll check the sleeping quarters.”

He’s about to run off when Winchester says, “Hey. Victor.”

Victor turns around. “What?”

“Don’t kill him, okay?”

“Your orders, Captain.”

Winchester- who’s managed to somehow hold onto his hat- nods.

“Just beat the snot out of him if you find him.”

“It would be my pleasure.”

Cas gives them about a thirty second head start, and then follows silently in Winchester’s path. He follows the wet footprints made by Winchester’s boots to a room buzzing with machinery and artificial light. After ascertaining that the room is now empty, Cas slips in and searches for a crevice to hide in. Assuming he finds an appropriate crevice, the question now becomes what he’s going to do once he’s hidden inside it. If not yet, the entire crew will no doubt be searching for him soon, with someone guarding Ruby and Anna at all times.  

This room is… strange. Everywhere else on this ship is lit by lanterns, but this room is full of unnatural light of strange colors. Wires dangle from the ceiling, some low enough that Cas must brush them aside as he searches. The bulk of the center of the room is a maze of large, rusty grey machines beeping quietly. Flatter machines line the walls, and various monitors, some of them cracked, all seem to be keeping track of something different. Some of them emit red light, or blue, or green, or orange. The light is low enough that Cas thinks somewhere in this room would make an effective, temporary hiding place.

He just rounds the corner towards the back of the room when he trips over something solid, landing hard on his side. Behind him, there’s a bemused, “buh?”, and his stomach drops as he hears a creeper roll out from under the machine.

He scrambles to his feet, but it’s too late. There’s a red headed woman sitting on the creeper, blearily rubbing her eyes.

“C’mon, Dean,” she complains. “You know I sometimes fall asleep under the stabilizer. Watch where you’re walking, man.”

She’s still rubbing sleep out of her eyes, and Cas is frozen. He doesn’t want to arouse any suspicion, but both walking away or choosing to say something seem like bad ideas.

“Uh,” he ends up saying, hopefully not enough to give away that he isn’t this Dean person.

The woman stands up, her back turned to Cas as she mumbles and types something on a nearby keyboard, watching the monitor.

“Any luck with Purple Sword yet?” she asks, covering her mouth as she yawns. “Did you puff up your chest and show him who’s boss?”

A second later, she glances at him out of the corner of her eye, awaiting an answer, and freezes.

“Oh,” she says, turning towards him fully. “Shit.”

They stare at each other for at least thirty seconds in shock before the woman’s expression slips a little bit.

“Aren’t you, uh… Going to threaten to kill me or something?” she asks.

“Aren’t you going to yell for help or something?” Cas says back.

Her eyes flash, but she steadies herself.

“Well, I’m not much of a screamer, to be honest,” she says, feigning casualness.

Cas has nothing- no weapon, no leverage, and not even the instinctual desire for continued survival is making him feel like he has to attack to woman in front of him. Wrong place, wrong time, he thinks.

So he makes do.

“You’re going to turn around,” he tells her, putting his hand on his hip where a gun might be. A bluff. “And you’re going to be quiet.”

Her eyes fall to where his fake-gun is currently resting.

“Okay,” she agrees, and turns around.

Cas spies an unused extension cord lying in the corner of the room and grabs it, wrapping it around the woman’s wrists and ankles.

“Y’know,” she begins carefully, “Our captain, Dean, he told me what he was gonna offer you.”

Cas stops tying for a second.

“Your captain?” he asks, “As in Winchester?”  

“You should take his deal,” she continues. “Even after this. You didn’t hurt me, and you could’ve. He’ll appreciate you not maiming his crew.”

Cas keeps tying, idly aware of not cutting off her circulation.

“I got him and that Victor guy pretty good,” he says neutrally.

The woman waves him off.

“Eh, they take hits all the time. They’ll get over it. But attacking a ship’s mechanic would be Uncool, man. I don’t even have a wrench to try and brain you with.”

Cas finishes with the cord, and puts his hands on the woman’s shoulder so that she sits on the floor. He looks around for something to gag her with, and is in the midst of ripping another strip of his sleeve off when something crashes into the back of his head hard enough that he stumbles forward, just barely keeping his balance. He turns around just in time to duck a right hook that’s swinging his way, and Winchester’s fist goes straight into the wall above him instead with a disturbing cracking noise.

“Charlie, talk to me!” he says loudly. “You alright?”

“Ay ay, Captain,” comes wryly from the corner.

Cas could try and stay and fight, but at that moment the ship lurches in the storm, throwing him fully onto the floor this time, and he registers how much the back of his head hurts from Winchester’s blow. He staggers to his feet, and finds himself thrown against the wall, this time not by the storm, but Winchester’s hands curled into his collar.

“Really?” he spits, water still running down his face from the rain. He shoves Cas against the wall again.

Cas makes a very bad decision then, and headbutts Winchester. His skull throbs at both the front and the back, and he sees stars for the moment, but it does its job. He takes the small window of opportunity and runs, out of the room and back down the hallway. He tramps up the stairs, knocking the hatch door open with his shoulder, and spills out into the now howling storm. Cas staggers forward, barely able to see through the rain, clutching to a mast to regain his bearings. Just barely over the sound of the wind and rain can he hear the hatch door burst open once again, and Winchester emerges, nose bloody, starting towards him immediately. Behind him, Victor emerges as well, and they split apart, circling him.

Cas keeps the mast at his back, sliding around it until he’s on the opposite side. He pushes himself off, having no idea where he’s headed or what the point of this so called escape even was in the first place, and the ship lurches underneath him again as he attempts to keep his footing. He falls a couple steps closer to the railing, gets a glimpse of the raging Lavender Ocean that’s threatening to come on board with every wave.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t notice the bucket that the wind and severe angle has dislodged from the other side of the ship, and it falls towards him, cracking him in the head hard enough that he blacks out, loses his footing completely, and tumbles over the side of the ship, plunging into the very depths of the storm.    

***

Victor is first to the rails, carefully peeking over. Dean sprints to his side, desperately searching the water for their prisoner.

“He’s gone!” Victor shouts over the din, looking to Dean. As soon as he looks at him, Victor must see it in his face, because he’s shaking his head furiously.

“Fuck no,” he shouts, “You’ve got to be shitting me!”

Dean grits his teeth and rips off his hat, shoving it at Victor’s chest.

“Keep this safe!” he bellows, “And go find a fucking rope or something.”

“You’re a dead man if you jump in there,” Victor shouts at him. “He’s not worth it, Dean.”

Dean smiles savagely, though he can barely see Victor’s reaction through the gale.

“Oh, I know he’s not,” he assures him, hoisting himself up and onto the railing. “I don’t even know his name.”

Before Victor can protest further, Dean dives off the Impala and into the raging waters of the Lavender Ocean to save a man whose name he doesn’t even know.


End file.
